“Look outside your window; you’d find me there. I could be stuffing my mouth with chocolate. I could be dreaming of us living blissfully; in love. I could be getting drenched by Mother Nature’s piss. I could be waiting. I am waiting. For you. I love you."

"Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me,And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be.Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet,And you'd see me waiting for you, on the corner of the street,So I'm not moving."

-- The Man Who Can't Be Moved, by The Script

The closest I got to falling in love was when I was six.

With a guy whose name I can no longer remember, though I can remember just what I called him.

Bambi.

And he called me Bam-bam, of all names.

We were the closest (or, rather, 'bestest') of friends; everyone knew that.

We told each other everything, from our family to our favourite pet to our most adored cartoon character; we did everything together, from the cold showers on those hot summer afternoons to making a fool out of ourselves in the mud after a heavy downpour.

I was happy with him, as he was with me.

I will never forget that one day after school, when we were running around the field like the little retards that we were. When we finally grew tired of running while flinging our arms in the air, we dropped to the grass, heaving.

"That was fun." He managed to get out through gasps, and I laughed.

He was always panting. Especially when we ran; when he ran after me. He would pant so bad that I always wondered if he'd ever run out of air to breathe in.

At times, when I didn't call him Bambi, I called him the 'Pant-er'.

He thought I meant the pink bunny.

"Way fun." I agreed, but frowned as I caught sight of the state of my new yellow dress. "But my mummy would be so angry later."

"Well…" Bambi paused, smoothing his mussed up hair as his blue eyes turned to twinkle at me. "I can wash your dress, and your mummy won't be angry."

I grinned, but let the conversation stop there. I reached for my pink duffel bag my mum gave for my birthday, and took out a few candy bars for the two of us to share.

And for another five minutes, it was just us, silence (with the exception of his constant loud breathing), and nature.

Until I decided to be stupid. As per usual.

"Bambi, who do you wanna marry when you're bigger?"

His teeth sank halfway through one of the Snickers I gave him, his eyes bulged with surprise, standing out even more against his comparatively pale features.

Then, he smiled, and his eyes twinkled again.

"You." He chewed slowly on his chocolate before gazing intently at me. "Who do you wanna marry when you're bigger?"

I turned away, blushing.

"You." Followed by awkward laughter, then some awkward silence.

"Bam-bam…" He started, his voice more timid and coy this time. I looked at him expectantly. His words came out in a breathless whisper, "Can I… K-kiss you?"

And my little heart raced, both sides thumping alongside each other, as though competing to be the fastest.

And he leaned in closer, his face inching nearer and nearer to mine, the proximity so close that I could smell the chocolate that stuck to the side of his lips messily; so close that I could hear his breathing getting louder, faster.

"I l-love y-"

Out of pure impulse, I ducked and got on my feet, running, my face contorted into some weird, maniac laughter, all the while blushing so badly.

He rolled his eyes but chased after me, and we never stopped. Not until the sun set and my mum demanded us to go home.

"See ya later Bambi." I said with a little wave.

He stared at me silently, for a short, short while, before saying, "Bye Bam-bam."

And he turned around and left, shoulders slumped.

Two days later, I noticed his absence, so I asked my mum why Bambi stopped coming over to play with me.

She just smiled sadly, reached her hand out to twirl the curly strands of hair I had endearingly, and said, "He has many things to do, sweetie. He might not be coming over for a long, long while."

The house was empty, lifeless without the presence of his family, lifeless without him.

Just as lifeless as I felt.

It took me another two years to convince myself that Bambi sneaked off to some really magnificent kingdom made of cotton candies and had soft gummy bears as armies.

The convincing part was all well and great, but the feeling sucked.

Because candy kingdom or not, he left without me.

Without an explanation.

When we were so happy together.

And even at the age of eight, I had some sense of commitment radar in me.

The feeling started building up after my dad left us when I was five, without even bidding me a final goodbye, or a farewell peck on the cheeks, for, according to my mum, 'things and people he liked better than us'.

(I figured out, eventually, that he left us for the younger lady who babysat me a few times when mum wasn't around due to business matters. I knew her shirt was see-through for a reason.)

But now, with Bambi's sudden disappearance, my loathe for men, in general, intensified so much more.

Which was why, starting from the age of eight, I was convinced that boys had cooties.

I was convinced that boys were stinky.

I was convinced that boys were dumb.

I was convinced that boys were…

Boys were heartbreakers.

I never quite admitted this to anyone else, but I guess that was what hurt the most.

Growing up was an okay process for me.

For the most parts, I grew up alone.

Had a couple of friends here and there, but they were never really here. If you get the idea.

I guess that had a little something to do with the fact that I never bothered telling them secrets… Or anything related to my life, for that matter. So they gave up on me… Eventually. But no matter, I was used to it. Friends come and go, anyway.

I went through a couple of phases, like normal teenagers do.

The bubbly phase (which lasted for a couple of hours), the bimbotic-psychopath phase (Phew. That was fun.), the preppy phase, and towards the end of high school, the gothic phase.

I got myself into a couple of detentions, but none too serious.

Like that time I painted the school gate in zebra stripes and pasted a large sign which said 'Crazy Zoo. Escape on the right.'

And that other time I accidentally (okay, deliberately. But oh, details, details.) smeared Starbucks on some stupid Ice Queen's… uh, you know, that piece of cloth that covered her titties.

And more recently, that time when I went on strike with the juniors, and we caused quite a scene outside the school demanding for the three F's: Food (Edible ones.); Fuck; and Freedom.

… Oh wait. Hold for a second. I think I got suspended for a month for that one.

Mum even got me into some retarded anger management classes which lasted for less than three weeks.

But oh, happy times, happy times.

Found myself a part-time job to earn some quick cash, and to lift some load off mum's shoulders. God knows how hard she's been working lately. It felt awful to watch her ageing so visibly more and more each day.

But God damn it, of all the jobs to find, I just had to land myself a job at some grocery store.

With the most impossible task ever. Built up a pyramid of cans without letting those rascal kids knock them over.

Stupid job.

"As long as I get money. As long as I get money. As long as I get money." I chanted repeatedly to myself, willing myself to stick to this job.

I stashed out a boxful of mushroom-filled cans and started building up from the bottom layer.

Jamie was an okay-person. Nice to talk to, (excessively) bubbly, and doesn't question much about my life. I liked that. Which was prolly why I tolerated her more than I did the other staffs, who kept pushing me with retarded questions. Like why is my hair so black. Or like, why are my nails so black. Or like, why is my face so black (I was always grumpy when I'm with them. Must be the pyramid of cans.).

Normally, on these circumstances, I'd smile sweetly, turn around, walk off, and then curse the hell out of them.

Seriously. They tend to forget that women go through PMS. Though sometimes I wonder if mine is a permanent condition.

"-And the other day, I saw this super duper cute ass walking down this exact isle, which was why I wanted to help out on this side." She giggled sheepishly, tossing her pink-highlighted blonde hair back. Avril worshipper. "Oh, God, I'm such a bimbo."

But I laughed a little, "It's okay, everyone still loves you."

Which wasn't even a lie.

She ducked her head to hide her smile, "Naaaah."

I smiled, and was just about to make a witty comment about the newest yoghurt stock that just came in yesterday when Jamie nudged me aggressively by the arm and whispered, "Look, Val, the hot guy!"

I looked up from my ninth layer and followed her none-too-subtle finger pointing that led me to the back of a certain black-haired guy.

Ah. So Jamie had a thing for tall, dark (okay, not so), and handsome men.

"Mm." I muttered, before continuing my task. Never really had cravings for eye candies.

"Bambi, your eyes are so blueeeee." The then five-year old girl murmured in awe, her brown orbs never glancing away from his blue eyes. Then, she grinned. "They match so well with your black, black, black hair!"

"Your eyes are pretty too!" He sighed, poking the side of her eyes a little. She wrinkled her nose in response. "So… orangey."

"It's brown, you stupid."

"Right. Brown." Then, he guffawed. "But my eyes are better, they can change colours! Like sometimes, when I'm really tired, it turns grey!"

"Don't say that." He stopped her, reaching out to pat her head lightly. "Your eyes are pretty. You are pretty. I like your pretty."

I snapped my head up to see the guy Jamie was talking about again.

His hair was ruffled, slightly gelled up to create the out-of-bed effect; his hands were on the bar of the trolley he was pushing as he walked past the cereal section; he was chewing on his bottom lip, something he liked to do when we were younger.

I gasped in surprise and hid behind my pathetic nine-layered can pyramid, hoping that it was enough to hide me while I control my heartbeat and block away all those images from the past that returned to haunt me.

"Hey, you okay?" Jamie asked, noticing my apparent change of mood.

"Yeah, I was just… Hyperventilating." I explained quickly, my words coming out jumbled and undecipherable, even to my own ears. My breathing was hard. Too hard. "Hot guy, see."

She winked knowingly, "Ah, I figured as much."

I went home that day with tangled-up thoughts in my mind threatening me.

And it got worse the moment I walked past his old house out of pure habit, and saw a pearly white car (Didn't know the name. Not fascinated by automotive vehicles.) parked nicely at the porch.

Restraining myself from knocking on the door and demanding to find out who the owner was, half-praying that he was back, the other half praying he wasn't, I stomped my way back home, hastily peeling off my flats and throwing my bag onto the couch in the living room.

Then I paused. Mum should know, should there be anything going on with that family.

She'd better know.

I braced myself, "Mum, remember Bambi?"

Her eyes popped up. A little.

And then to my absolute frustration, she went back to reading her papers.

"Mmhmm…" She trailed off, trying to pretend to be fully absorbed by the latest news.

I smell crap.

"Do you know anything about him or his family lately?" I pressed on, growing slightly aggravated.

"Not really..." Liar.

I sat in front of her and stared.

"They're back, aren't they?"

She clucked her tongue, and then set her papers down and stared at me. "No, not really."

I sighed in relief. Thank God.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Overwhelmed with sudden cheerfulness, I offered myself to get the door.

Only to have clouds over my head all over again.

I slammed the door shut and glared at my mother, who looked a little bit too innocent to not be guilty.

"You said they weren't back!"

"They aren't back! He's the only one who returned!" She argued defiantly, and then got up from her seat as the doorbell rang again. "I'll leave you to the door, sweetheart."

And she went upstairs, probably thinking that I needed the privacy.

Wrong.

I gritted my teeth and swung the door open as the bell rang for the third incessant time.

"What the hell do you want?" I pretty much yelled up at him (he was so much taller than me now), but he took it like a man.

"Twelve years later and this is how you greet me? No hugs or kisses or 'I miss you's? I must say, I'm a wee-bit disappointed."

Okay. Scratch all that. He took it like a jerkface.

"Go rot in hell." I snapped, and slammed the door shut again.

Needless to say, within two seconds the bell rang. Louder, more persistent.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I was rude. That was stupid and horrible of me." He confessed behind the door. I leaned against the door and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't need this. "Please, just open the door, let me see you for one short moment, and I'll leave if you want me to."

"Promise?" I asked, trying not to think about all those times when we made promises.

The promises he broke.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Despite myself, I smiled a little, and then opened the door.

Only to find that his fingers were crossed.

And before I knew what was going on, he had his hands on mine, and we broke out into a run.

"What the hell are you doing?" I tried to release myself from his steel grip. "Shit, let me go!"

"I won't." He answered calmly, his breath still even, even though we were running. I remember how he used to be gasping for breaths a few steps after we started running. Apparently the guy built up his stamina. I couldn't care less.

"I hate you." The words rolled off my tongue so smoothly now, and he just smiled, finally halting as we reached our stop.

"I'm sorry, but please let me explain. I need to explain. I was born with a hole in my heart, a ventricular septal defect. And when we were younger there was no medication or aid for it yet. And we were always chasing each other everywhere, and my heart often ached, literally. I was always gasping for breath, did you even notice?"

I took a step back, but said nothing.

I noticed. He was Pant-er. My Pant-er.

I still remember.

Also my bloody Pant-er who ran away.

Couldn't forget that, either.

"My mum wasn't glad, to speak the truth." He continued, his blue eyes searching my own brown ones in worry. "Not because of you, but more because I couldn't control myself. Not when I'm with you. Mum made me promise her so many times that I would stop running so fast, because I'd be short of breath. I broke my promises each time I hang out with you. And she was complaining about how I grew thinner each day. She was just… worried, Bam- … Valerie."

"That's why you left." It was supposed to come out as a question, but my deadpanned tone turned it into a statement.

Something irreversible, no matter what.

"Dad found a new job on the west coast. They thought it was a good opportunity, he'd earn a lot more than he did when we stayed here." He hesitated, biting his bottom lip. "And mum thought it'd be better if we stopped hanging out for a while. She said she'd let me see you once my heart condition gets better."

"And you didn't think you could tell me?" I asked incredulously, remembering what Ms. Margaret said about controlling my temper. I clenched and unclenched my fists. Clench and unclench. Clench and unclench. Oh, bloody hell. Not working. "You didn't think I would understand? Didn't think I could explain? Didn't think I could bloody help, maybe?"

"I wrote you a bloody letter!" His arms were flung in the air in exasperation.

I mimicked him, "I didn't bloody receive it!"

"But I'm sure I mailed it!" He groaned in disbelief when I rolled my eyes. "Trust me on this, okay?"

I tried imagining a six-year old boy sending off a letter. What did he use as a stamp, chocolate wrappers?

"I was six, Valerie! We were six! What the hell was I supposed to do? Elope with you?" He retorted, his hand running through his black hair once, in annoyance. His breathing was ragged, and I was reminded of the hole in his heart again. I abhorred myself for feeling worried. "And what, we'd survive on chocolate bars?"

"Then why are you back?" I looked at him, my eyes really focusing on his features for once. The same twinkling blue eyes, now clouded with frustration; the same mussed up black hair that was like a forest of untameable trees; the same tall nose; the same pink lips… Not the same Bambi.

I looked away, hoping that he couldn't see the pool of tears forming.

"I never stopped pestering mum about her promise, especially after my heart healed. Plus, I was never really happy in that other school. The people there were too superficial. I missed you. Mum got fed up in the end and gave me the keys to our old house. So now I'm back." He smiled a little, and reached out to cup my face with his hands, his thumb lightly brushing away my tears.

I've cried for him so many times, each time hoping that he was there to wipe it all away, and now that it's really happening, I don't… I didn't know what to think.

"I want to be with you, Bam-bam." He murmured, his lips pressed to my right ear. "I've always loved-"

"Don't." I interjected angrily, pushing him away. I wiped away my tears hastily, determined not to shed another tear for him. Not anymore. I forced myself to stare into his eyes for one last time, telling myself that this would be the last time I looked at him that way. "You left. Things aren't the same anymore. You can't just walk into my life after twelve years and expect to be a part of it like before. You're not the same anymore. Hell, I'm not the same anymore. So please. I beg of you, please leave me alone. You were getting pretty good at it, anyway."

And I spun on my heels and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I ran, like the way I did when I was six.

I ran away from him.

Only this time, I wished he wouldn't come back.

Only he did.

Every bloody day, insistent on tagging along another childhood memory each time he visited, whether to hurt or taunt me, I couldn't be sure.

The first day, he showed up on our doorstep at six a.m., pressing on the doorbell in that rhythmic beat to the all-famous Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star tune. Our secret way to announce our arrival when we were six.

He had no idea how much it hurt when the door stopped ringing like that, ever since he left.

I opened the door with blurry eyes and a bucketful of cold water in hand, ready to splash on him, until I saw him holding a huge jar of chocolate chip cookies.

For me.

I snatched the jar and slammed the door in his face.

And then he came back the very next day with a very familiar looking pink duffel bag in hand.

I gasped. My pink duffel bag!

"I was cleaning my house the other day when I found this near the door." He chuckled, peeking into the bag. "All the same contents, only you'd prolly think twice before chucking them all into your mouth."

I blanched, thinking about the day I got so angry I threw my bag into his house, maybe hoping that someone would come out and scream at me. I wanted that to happen, because that would mean that he was still there.

He seemed to be cleaning his house a lot of late, finding all the things we had when we were younger.

The green booklet we used in our kindergarten, where I drew pretty stick figures on it.

The stupid purple dinosaur toy figure that my mum and I bought for him on his fifth birthday. The one he chucked into one corner because he thought Barney's for girls. We never spoke for forty-five minutes.

The jigsaw puzzles we mashed up and destroyed together at the field.

The deflated printed balloons from my birthday party. The dresses I left in his house whenever I stayed over and his mother showered us together. The little toys of mine that I never quite remembered to take home. The leftover candy bars. Our favourite marshmallows. Our favourite cartoon shows. Our favourite Enid Blyton books. Our favourite colouring art. Our favourite sand art. Our favourite water bottle.

Our favourite. Our favourite.

Our favourite.

Each time he'd go home after I slam the door in his face.

The last day of the third week, he came to the door again, but I opened the door before he managed to press the doorbell.

"What do you want, now?" I asked half-heartedly. Despite myself, I was kind of hoping to see him more and more each day.

But then again, my whole life's been about living in denial, so I couldn't really tell.

"You do realize that I'm annoyingly persistent, right?" He asked with an admittedly charming smirk as he leaned against the doorframe.

My doorframe.

"Maybe," I let the word linger in the air for a while, before I added, "But then again, you do realize that I'm a little bit more unrelenting, right?"

"Ooh, 'unrelenting'. Big word there." He commented lightly, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he grinned at me.

I flashed him a saccharine sweet smile, then to his absolute horror (or pain, I can't be too sure), I banged the door shut, emitting a satisfyingly loud yell from the other side.

"Oi, my fucking shoulder!"

"Ooh, 'fuck'. Big word there." I mocked, laughing a little to myself as I heard him groan.

"You're never gonna forgive me, aren't you?" He asked, his voice no longer as cocky as before.

I tilted my head upwards to prevent tears from falling freely again, and leaned against the door, providing my head some support as I allowed myself to think.

I wanted to forgive him. Ever so badly.

But my heart wouldn't let me.

"No, not really." I answered after a while, and I heard him sigh from the other side.

"Was it horrible?" He continued asking, sounding regretful. "When I left, was it horrible for you?"

Yes.

"No."

"Did you return to our happy place?"

Yes, for two whole years, until I realized that he wouldn't be there, like he said he would.

And then reality hit me. It hit me hard.

"No."

"You didn't cry?"

"Not even a tear…" My voice broke, and I sank to the ground with my hands over my eyes, hating myself for breaking my own promise.

"No." I've been repeating that answer for so many times that it became a pure reflexive answer.

No. No. No.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, and I recalled all those times he said sorry when we were younger, and we'd reconcile over candies and laughter and chasing around the park, where he'd pant like how he usually did.

And then I stopped recalling.

"You want to know what happened to me after you left?" I asked sceptically, pushing myself to tough up. If not now, when? "Yes, it was horrible. Yes, I went back to our happy place every damn time, but left crying. I cried every single morning, every single afternoon, every single night. I cried so much that my mum was seriously contemplating on quitting her job just to take care of her little daughter. But then I grew up. I grew up without a real friend to depend on because I didn't trust myself enough to let me rely on them, like I did on you. I grew up rebelling, getting myself into endless detentions and even suspensions; Mum even got me into some retarded anger management class to control myself, and all that stupid Ms. Margaret taught us was how to clench our fists. I found myself a job at the nearest grocery store to earn some quick cash, and every time I see a boy and a girl running around the isle making a mess out of things I think of you. I missed you every single day, and I needed you so badly. But eventually I figured, you wouldn't have left if you knew you'd hurt me. Which led me to the eventual conclusion that… That you didn't care. And I guess… I guess the knowing that you wouldn't care anymore, you wouldn't miss anymore, you wouldn't need anymore… It made me stop missing and wishing for you to be here."

I waited patiently for a response, wondering if he'd yell at me, if he'd cry, if he'd say anything. Anything at all.

But when I opened the door, he wasn't there.

All that's left was a tiny ring from one of those capsule machines, pressing on a small note:

I said I wanted to marry you, didn't I?

And then, below, were two smaller words that I assumed he scribbled right before he left.

I'm sorry.

He stopped coming to my house every morning.

I started hoping that he'd come to my house every morning.

… I felt like I've developed split personalities in this short span of three weeks.

After school, I would sit on the couch in the living room, where it was nearest to the door, and pretend to be engrossed with whatever that I was doing. My ears would be on full alert, waiting for the bell to ring – much to my disbelief.

I never did anything like this before.

In fact, the last time I did this was...

Was when he left. Twelve years ago.

But maybe this time would be different.

I was almost sure that he would come to the door. He was persistent, wasn't he? I had my hopes up, and my confidence level was pretty high on the board, too.

I cracked my knuckles and continued working on my assignments, eyes wandering to the door every five seconds.

One day. Two days. Five days. One and a half weeks. Two weeks. A month.

Two months.

I've been waiting like a moron.

I threw my papers across the room, watching it scatter to messy pieces.

"Forget it." I mumbled to myself as I sat in front of the television, sulking. "He'd never come."

It occurred to me that I've been waiting for so long, for something that would never come.

They were right after all.

The more you want something, the more it denies you.

I made myself stop wanting.

I had to.

The next Saturday evening, mum came into my room with a small box tucked nicely underneath her arms. I looked up expectantly.

"For you." She said, placing the box delicately on my table. Then, she pressed a kiss to my cheeks and left me alone.

I stared mutedly at the box.

Or rather, the words written on the box.

Still here.

Out of curiosity, I lifted the lid off the box, and my eyes widened.

There were a hell lot of notes.

Or more precisely, a bunch of papers filled with hideous chicken scratches with numbers on it.

Only his words could be that bad.

Some things never change, after all.

But no, I wasn't going to give in.

I tossed the lid on the box, and continued writing my English essay.

Only my mind wouldn't listen. Before I knew it, my hands were on the lid, hesitant.

"Oh, screw this."

I lifted the lid again, searched through the pile of letters and unfolded the first note that had the number '1' written on it in blue ink.

"Dearest Bam-bam,

Mummy says we haf to go sum place far away. She sed I have a hole in my hart, but I think it's so stupid. No one gets holes in their harts. I think she just don't like us playing together. My pants r alwez durte.

(The top part was strike-out)

Okay, so that wasn't really the letter I wrote. But I really did write you one, I swear. But I'm thinking… Well, maybe I kind of, accidentally, used chocolate wrappers as stamps. Idiotic, I know. But I was six, Valerie. Bet you wouldn't know where to get stamps if you were me.

I never stopped writing after I left, you know.

:) Read for yourself.

Oh, and Bam-bam?

Please let your heart think this time."

I reached out for the second letter, feeling the paper material under my touch. It was torn out from an exercise book, I could tell. And it was slightly more yellowish than the others.

"Bam-bam,

I jus got 2 my nu home. Its big-er, but I don like it. I mis u, bam-bam. I mis our hapi plays."

The third note.

"Bam-bam,

Today was the 1st day of sku, and it was treble. I sat by myself, bcos I haf no frewns. I wish u were here, n we can poke all the sku bulis.

I mis u, bam-bam. I mis our hapi plays."

My heart twisted a little. I sat alone on the first day of school, too. And every other day. Because he wasn't there, and I didn't see the fun in it anymore.

"Bam-bam,

My burfday's today. I m 7 years old now! Mummy took me and my friends out for ice-cream. We had fun, but my frens look at me like I was stupid when I told them 2 put the ice-cream on their face.

And they laffed at me when we run, and I pant, cause no air.

They are stupider.

I mis u, bam-bam. You will put the ice-cream on yor face if u were here. You won't laf when I run. I mis our hapi plays."

I celebrated his birthday for him by crying.

Hell, I celebrated our birthdays by crying.

"Bam-bam,

Ho! Ho! Ho! Mery Crismas! Is it snowing there? This place is stupid. No snow. I can't go out and play snow man like we always do when I was home.

I mis u, bam-bam. I mis our hapi plays."

"Bam-bam,

Happy new year! I wanted to call u, but mummy stop me. Sorry, bam-bam. Please don't not talk to me. I hate it. I hate here.

I want to go home.

I mis u, bam-bam. I mis our happy plays."

"Bam-bam,

Happy Birthday! You r 9 now! I hope your hair is longer. You look pretty with long hair. Will u b goin out with ur friends? Pls have fun. Blow a candle and make 3 wishes!

I miss u, bam-bam. I miss our happy place.

p/s: Pls wish for me to go home. I want to see u."

I made so many wishes that day.

None of which came true.

"Bam-bam,

I am so happy! I got all A's in my exams, so mum bought me a new computer game! Stupid game. Barney. Would be better if her present was you.

I miss you, bam-bam. I miss our happy place. So much."

"Bam-bam,

Went to see doctor today. They did weird things to me.

But it's okay. Doctor said my heart 'hilled'? Mum says there is no more hole.

But when I asked if I can go find you now, mum didn't say anything.

I miss you, bam-bam. I miss our happy place. I want to run with you now."

"Bam-bam,

I feel so weird. My voice sounds funny now, and I can't sing high, like we used to.

What's happening to me? Mum said somethin' about pubertie… Or somethin'. Does it mean I'm going to die?

I miss you, bam-bam. I miss our happy place. I wish you were here."

I laughed to myself. He could be so stupid at times.

I folded back this piece and took out the next, pink, scented paper with some pretty writing on the back.

I'm assuming the paper was from a girl.

Poor her.

"Bam-bam,

I think puberty is magical. Now all the girls in my school want to know me. But don't worry, I don't like them.

Because none of them are as pretty as you.

I miss you, bam-bam. I miss our happy place. So badly.

p/s: Happy Valentines Day! I hope you don't receive flowers. I want to be the 1st one to give you!"

"Bam-bam,

I'm so so so so so so so so sorry.

I didn't know what happened.

She just… Came. And she just kissed me. And she said she loved me. And I just said… I said yes.

Oh God, I'm so stupid. I'm so sorry, Bam-bam.

I don't even know why she kissed me. I hated it.

I miss you, bam-bam. Even more than before."

"Bam-bam,

I was made captain of my school's basketball team today. Haha, bet you didn't expect that, huh? But I'm not really excited. I don't even look forward to matches that much. Not when you're not here to cheer me on.

Needed some alone time today, so I hit the movies by myself after my basketball training (Which was awful, by the way. I swear, the coach is trying to assassinate us.). Watched a movie that made me cry.

Haha. I felt like a retard, sitting alone in the cinema, crying.

But I cried because of you. Because of us.

The movie was about two kids, a boy and a girl, who were childhood sweethearts. They did everything together. They told each other everything. They were so happy together.

But one day, the girl left. Without saying a thing. And it was a horrible process for the both of them, because they missed each other so much.

They found each other in the end. They fell in love all over again. They lived happily ever after.

I want that, too.

And I've never stopped thinking about the last time we met.

I wanted to tell you something.

I still do.

I love you, Bam-bam.

And I won't stop loving.

I hope you feel the same way too."

It was past midnight when I unfolded the last piece of paper, my eyes sore and watery, but not entirely because of exhaustion.

I traced my fingers lightly across his words; Those ugly, almost unreadable words that became so close to my heart within this few hours, taking me home.

Taking me to my happy place.

"Dearest Bam-bam,

You have no idea how long it took for me to dig out every piece of letter I wrote, because every time after I write one, I'd hide it somewhere where I can't see it; Where it wouldn't hurt me; Where it wouldn't make me wipe off another angry tear. You weren't the only one suffering, Bam-bam. I wanted you. I needed you. I loved you. More than you can ever imagine.

Point is: I know you still care, even if just a little bit. Because I care. Like hell.

Point is: You've never lost me. Not even close to losing.

Point is: I'm willing to do anything, as long as it means you'll be with me. Even if you claim that I don't know you anymore. I'm willing to know you. Willing to love you. Every bloody part of you.

And if you'd look outside your window, you'd find me there.

I could be stuffing my mouth with cotton candies or chocolate bars.

I could be fast asleep, my mind somewhere far away, where the two of us live blissfully together – In love, by the way.

I could be getting chased by those moronic dogs in this neighbourhood.

I could be drenched by Mother Nature's piss.

I could be waiting.

I would be waiting.

I am waiting.

For you to be here. Next to me. So I could whisper those three forbidden words that made you run away from me way back when.

I love you.

Please don't turn your back on me now."

a/n: ZOMG. When was the last time I posted something up?

I don't really think this is anywhere near decent, but I just needed to write. I missed writing. So badly.The childhood memory bit (you know, the one about getting married) really did happen to me in real life. Hahaha. Only I don't know where the hell that guy's at now.

I did some research on the hole in heart thing. Apparently it heals when you get older (well, for most cases). So I didn't bother to elaborate much on it.

Tell me if you (hopefully) liked it? Or if you don't?

Much love,Found.eventually.

p/s: I'll reply messages and reviews SOON. Promise. :) Love you all!

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